Good
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: Boone was good. He always meant well, he always tried hard and he always came to Shannon's rescue. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Lost. Luckily I do own seasons 1-3 on DVD.

**A/n: **This has been in notebook for a while now actually, and I felt the need to post something, so I thought why not this. I wrote a bunch of Shannon/Boone-ish fics back to back and this was one of them. Enjoy.

* * *

Boone was good.

He was generous and helpful. Always trying for the best, he always wanted to do the right thing. Sometimes what he thought was the right thing wasn't, in fact, but that hardly stopped him from trying. He didn't stop doing what he thought was right until someone stopped him. He _always_ meant well, he always tried.

He always came for her. Deep down, he knew she was using him, yet he always came to her rescue, always hoped something might be different this time. He always helped her, gave her money, paid off the latest scumbag she'd picked up. He always wished for the one time when she would look at him and see him as someone other than her protective, manipulated step-brother. He always thought about a time when she would finally fall into his arms and he could finally let loose all the feelings he had held in for so long.

One night she did and he resisted at first. She was a little too drunk, a little too vulnerable, and he a little too afraid to be another one of her many casualties; afraid to be the next one with a broken heart. She'd been dumped by another shallow idiot, this time before they'd had a chance to split the money from her latest misuse of his affections and protection. She kissed him and she said she knew he wanted, and he held back. He wasn't going to give in, he wasn't going to take advantage. He couldn't deny his feelings however. He couldn't deny _her_.

He cursed himself for it afterwards. He'd wrecked it, she'd wrecked it. She wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. She had used him again, like a blanket to keep warm and keep the cold out, but then thrown away, no longer needed, the instant there was some sunshine and she felt warm again, able to take care of herself again. She used him in the ultimate way and it was as much his fault as it was hers. He hated that she used him, that she _always_ used him, and that he _let_ her use him. He loved her purely, in spite of what she put him through, how she treated him daily. He loved her in spite of everything.

The plane crash almost changed things. Or at least, it _offered_ the chance to change things. At first, she fought the change. She tried to keep it the same, keep the control. She refused to give in this time, and she refused to treat him differently, refused to believe they were really stuck there. Refused to do anything, really. He, on the other hand, recognized the chance to change things, and he was determined. Determined to change, determined to help, determined to make a difference, to stop being used, to always do the right thing after he hadn't for so long. He was determined to stop loving her more than a step-sister when it seemed so clear to him she didn't him love him back.

As she became closer to someone else on the island, she softened. She started to see things differently, she started to regret the way she had treated him. She began to change and she stopped denying it. She was starting over, starting fresh.

He saw her change for someone else and became jealous. He had to realize he didn't need her. He didn't need her, loving him back, in order for him to be happy and she was finally, _finally_ becoming truly happy herself, with that someone else she was growing close to. It was wonderful to see, to see the grime of the world and years of manipulation ever-so-slowly fall away. But it was terrible too, because she was transforming with and for someone else, and not him. It was difficult. He was a good enough person to realize and see the truth, however, and so he began to let her go.

As he lay on the thinly cushioned bench, feeling his body shut down from the vast array of injuries from his fall in the plane, he wondered if he had let go too soon, too fast, if he had tried harder to keep them together. He wanted to see her one last time, to tell her he'd never truly given up on them, on her. He knew she was good too, somewhere deep inside, she didn't need to hide, didn't need to try to stop it from showing. He still loved her and always would. He wanted her, had _always_ wanted her, to be happy.

He never got a chance to say any of those things, as he slowly left his body below. People cried. They cried for the boy who was good and always meant well, the boy who was generous and loyal, who was a little hot-headed but cared so deeply for his step-sister.

He was in a place where he could hardly understand crying, heart-ache and suffering. He watched them curiously, waiting for her. _Just one last time…_ He needed to see her one last time.

She came and knelt beside him – his body, down there on the bench – and her body quivered and shook with grief. He reached out to her through time and space; she could not feel his touch. He spoke in her ear though it was no more audible than a butterfly's breath. He told her the things he'd never got the chance to say, he told her it would be ok, that she would be ok in time. He kissed her cheek so gently it felt to her merely as if a warm, comforting breeze had brushed past her skin. He told her goodbye and that he was waiting for her when it was her time to leave. She clutched the cold hand on his former body and vowed to be good.

She wanted to be good, like Boone.

* * *

**A/n:** Thanks for reading. I always love to hear what people thought, so please review. Thanks! :D


End file.
